


Out of Order

by madrefiero



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blow Jobs, Frottage, M/M, Shameless Smut, Smut, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 19:04:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18610618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madrefiero/pseuds/madrefiero
Summary: For the Week 5 @mandatoryfunday prompt on tumblr.When Clint offered up an apartment in the building he owned, Bucky took the offer without much or a second thought. He had no desire to stay in the tower where Stark's A.I. could monitor his every move, and he couldn't bear to wake up from a nightmare to Steve frowning and worrying. Just thinking about it was suffocating. What he hadn't bargained for was how different Clint was at home in Bed-Stuy or how attractive Clint was if you knocked on his door at ass crack of dawn o'clock with a leak in your apartment or trouble with the washers and dryers in the basement.





	Out of Order

Brooklyn in the summertime had always been hot. Even now that air conditioning was a thing, it was still hot, but this summer it was particularly stifling. A heat wave descended on New York, weeks ago and had yet to let up. Everyone was on edge and irritable because of it, which made being around people almost impossible for the former Winter Soldier. He wanted to be the Bucky that Steve remembered, but he was too different. He was someone between the Winter Soldier and Bucky Barnes, and it was too hot to think about who that was. 

When Clint offered up an apartment in the building he owned, Bucky took the offer without much or a second thought. He had no desire to stay in the tower where Stark's A.I. could monitor his every move, and he couldn't bear to wake up from a nightmare to Steve frowning and worrying. Just thinking about it was suffocating. What he hadn't bargained for was how different Clint was at home in Bed-Stuy or how attractive Clint was if you knocked on his door at ass crack of dawn o'clock with a leak in your apartment or trouble with the washers and dryers in the basement. 

Bucky sat in the otherwise deserted laundry room, glaring at the timer on the dryer. He was dreading having to take the hot clothes out and fold them, but it was something mundane to do, and kept his mind from wandering. He enjoyed coming in the middle of the night while everyone else slept. Too many people in the room at once made him antsy. With half an hour left, he pulled out a book to pass the time. 

He was enjoying the quiet hum of the dryer when someone busted, okay fell, through the door. He knocked his chair over and reached for the handgun tucked under a couple of folded towels in his basket. 

“Aw, door.” Clint looked up from where he lay on the floor and gave Bucky a slightly pained smile. “Oh, hey. I didn't think anyone was down here.”

“What the fuck, Clint? I almost shot you.” He tucked the gun away again and reached down to help him up. He was filthy, or his suit was, coated in God knows what. Other than that, he looked relatively unscathed for a change.”

“Gross, huh? I'm not even sure what it is. It's absolutely not from falling into a dumpster though. The Amazing Hawkeye is infinitely cooler than that.” He wiggled his eyebrows as he spoke, giving one of the smiles that made Bucky feel warm and human. Before Bucky could overthink, Clint kicked off his boots and took off his suit piece by piece, promptly throwing them all into an empty washer as Bucky looked on.

“Jesus Christ, Barton. You're a hot mess.” He shook his head, not quite managing to avoid the way his eyes lingered on his abs.

“I'm not a hot mess, Barnes, I'm a spicy disaster.” And then the motherfucker winked at him. What the fuck even was tonight? Bucky couldn't help but laugh. Clint Barton, The Amazing Hawkeye, Avenger, and his landlord, was flirting with him while he stood there in his extremely small underwear. 

“Look, you're not exactly as subtle as you think you are. I might act like an idiot...scratch that. I might be an idiot ninety percent of the time, but I'm pretty fucking perceptive. So whatever your thing about me is, it's mutual. Unless I've completely missed the mark and you're actually plotting my murder.” He shrugged and walked over to the dryers, hopping up to sit on one. 

Bucky thought about what he said for a second, wondering if he was even allowed to have feelings like this. He did once, back in Russia, and that ended with his brain scrambled and him back on ice. Except he wasn't in Russia anymore. He was his own person again, even if he wasn't entirely sure who that was yet. He crossed the distance between them taking deliberately slow steps, giving himself time to make sure this was what he wanted. Unfortunately for Clint, Bucky's thinking face was unsettlingly similar to his murder face.

“Aw, Buck, no. Nat will kill me if I die in my Black Widow underwear.”

It took everything Bucky had in him to keep a straight face. Barton was the most ridiculous person he'd ever seen, and maybe that's exactly what he needed. When he finally reached him, he watched as a bead of sweat trickled down his chest, following the trail it left up to his collarbone. He was definitely leaving a mark there later. 

“You never miss your mark though, do you? Besides, I like spicy.” The way Clint's face moved from worried to relieved to positively beaming had Bucky a little weak in the knees. Clint's smiles, his real smiles were like the sun, warm and bright and comforting. 

“No, I guess I don't.” Clint grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him so he was standing between his knees, leaning in so his breath ghosted across Bucky's lips. “How spicy are we talking? Jalapeño? Habanero? Ghost pepper?”

“Barton will you shut up and goddamn kiss me already?” 

They met in the middle, mouths grazing tentatively at first before Bucky teased Clint's lips open with his tongue. It started soft and slow neither wanting to push the other too far too fast, when in truth neither one of them wanted anything more than each other at that moment. In the time it took Bucky to thread his fingers into unruly, blond hair, Clint had wrapped his legs around his waist and his hands were beneath his shirt, brushing against his skin. 

Clint traced the lines of his abdomen and brushed down his sides to squeeze his hips, thumbs teasing just at the edge of his waistband. His touch was undemanding, but needy, clearly interested in the feel of skin and skin, without sweat-damp fabric between them.

“S'too hot for clothes.” Clint pulled back from the kiss and tugged Bucky's shirt off, smiling triumphantly when the offending garment was on the floor. Bare hands roamed over his now-exposed chest in the most gentle touches he can remember. “Fuck. You're too hot for clothes. I think my brain stopped working.” 

“You talk too much.” Bucky shut him up with a greedy kiss, all teeth and tongue and need. He appreciated the Clint was considerate of his comfort level, but now that his body was responding, he wanted more. How long had it been for him? Years? Decades maybe. He pulled Clint to the edge of the dryer he sat on, pressing their torsos flush together. He knew there was no doubt that Clint could feel exactly how much more he wanted when he shifted, pressing his hips into his. 

Bucky kissed along his jaw, down the side of his throat to his collarbone. He smiled against his skin before nipping and kissing the spot, sucking a mark exactly where he imagined earlier. Clint's fingers were tangled in his hair, holding him in place. When he slid his flesh hand up the archer's thigh and pressed the heel of his palm against him, Clint's grip tightened and sent a sharp sting over his scalp that made him weak. 

“Do that again. Pull harder.” He kissed his way down further, pausing to graze his teeth over a nipple. When he felt another, harder tug on his hair, he pressed his metal hand against his own growing hard-on. He mouthed at Clint through this underwear before finally moving them out of the way. Once his cock was free, Bucky had his mouth on it. He teased the tip with a wet kiss, then nibbled his way down the shaft. He licked a long, slow stripe on his way back up, glancing up occasionally to watch Clint's face

The sound Clint made when he swallowed him all the way down was obscene and possibly illegal in a few states, and it had Bucky straining uncomfortably in his Jean's. “Fuck,” he mumbled and fluttered his tongue against the sensitive underside of Clint's tip, quickly working his own cock free and giving a hard squeeze. He moaned in a low rumble, which earned him another rough pull to his hair, and had him quickly pushing Clint to the edge. 

“Nnnhhh...not yet. C'mere,” Clint half-moaned and pulled him up for a lust-drunk kiss. “Want to come together.”

Bucky lifted him up despite the height difference, and sat down so Clint was straddling his lap. They were a sight, Bucky with his pants around his knees and Clint on his lap with the Black Widow's emblem emblazoned on his ass, the two of them rutting against one another desperately. Bucky couldn't have cared less. Both of them were hot and needy, and when he wrapped his hand around both of their cocks he had to give himself a minute before he could move. 

He pumped them both with his flesh hand while Clint ground against him and pulled his head back to kiss the base of his throat. The buzzer on the dryer sounded letting Bucky know that his clothes were done, but he ignored it. The moans filling the room were much more pleasing to his ears. Their sweat-slick skin glided together easily, and it didn't take long until they were both panting and desperate for release. 

“Clint...fuck…” He squeezed their cocks tighter, throwing his head back as the need to come built quickly, hot pressure in the base of his spine. Clint agreed wordlessly, his hips stuttering as he chased his orgasm. A few rough strokes later and Bucky was coming all over his hand and Clint's dick, letting Clint thrust faster. He came soon after, shooting stripes on Bucky's abdomen. Bucky caught his lips in a lazy kiss as they came down, both arms securely wrapped around him. 

Once he could finally breathe again, he let out a chuckle. “I guess if I have to be hot and sweaty, this way better than sitting here miserably sweating alone, but we should probably clean up and get dressed in case anyone else comes to do their laundry.”

Clint nodded, then pulled back to look at him, brushing Bucky's hair out of his eyes, with a lopsided grin on his face. “Nah, I put an “out of order” sign on the door before I came in here. We've got the rest of the night.”


End file.
